


Take this sinking boat and point it home

by Renmiriffx



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Drinking, Gallavich, I don't fucking know how to describe this, M/M, Smoking, Taking Care of Someone, bonding over deadbeat dads, fear of love and affection, i dunno, kinda sad but hopefull, mend to be beautiful in a fucked up way kinda, mentions of abuse, psychological mambo jambo, some amount of sweetness, sorta AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 12:20:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5496848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Renmiriffx/pseuds/Renmiriffx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s quiet, just the way Mickey likes it, he hums quite peacefully as he reaches to his safe heaven. He crouches a bit, so he can get into the small cave. But it seems that the world is out of order, because there’s someone lying on the ground, knees brought tight against chest and head buried to the knees. Mickey can feel bubbling rage inside himself. It’s his motherfucking spot. </p><p> </p><p>You're in my spot, get lost fuckhead, oh fuck you're hurt, let me help you and then fucking scamble- sorta AU</p><p>Title stolen from movie Once, song Falling slowly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take this sinking boat and point it home

**Author's Note:**

> Cos I'm not feeling festive at all, I unloaded my frustration to this. Don't murder me.  
> Not my native language, so excuse the typos and grammar errors.  
> Erm, leave me some love cuties ~<3~  
> I don't bite, not hard anyways ;)

Terry was drunk as usual, and Mickey didn’t feel like dealing with Terry’s fists today, so he grabbed his stuff, a blanket, some beef jerky and couple of beers and heated out to his safe heaven as he called it.

Safe heaven was a cave deep in the woods he had discovered when he was still a little boy, it had become a habit, going in there when he didn’t feel like dealing with things, and more importantly it was a place where he was alone. It was something to protect him, alone. If you’re alone, no one can hurt you, or make you talk about things you really don’t want to talk about. And there no one fucking asked if he was okay. For Mickey that was the stupidest question in the world. ‘Are you okay?’ such a load of bullshit. Nobody’s fucking okay in the south side of Chicago.

As Mickey walks deeper into the woods, he picks up a branch and whacks trees with it as he keeps wandering, taking sips of beer every now and then.

It’s quiet, just the way Mickey likes it, he hums quite peacefully as he reaches to his safe heaven. He crouches a bit, so he can get into the small cave. But it seems that the world is out of order, because there’s someone lying on the ground, knees brought tight against chest and head buried to the knees. Mickey can feel bubbling rage inside himself. It’s his motherfucking spot.

So he pokes the intruder on the side, just to see if it’s still alive and not a corpse. He hears a low groan, so not a corpse then.

“Ay, dude. You’re in my fucking spot, get lost.” He says, but hears or sees no response.

Mickey huffs out hot hair and rolls his eyes, the nerves on this guy…

Mickey raises the branch and swings it hard to the back of the guy, who leads out a whine, but still doesn’t indicate any desire to move or answer in actual words.

“Did you fucking hear me, scramble fucktard.” Mickeys yells clearly annoyed. “You can either walk the fuck out or crawl with a broken leg, it’s entirely up to you.”

“Leave me alone.” Mickey hears the guy mumbling.

“Huh? You fucking serious? It’s MY fucking spot, and you’re leaving now.” Mickey yanks the guy by the shoulder, making him roll over.

The guy tries to hide his face, but Mickey can see that his face is fucking scattered because of a hard punch. Punches like that Mickey knows too well.

“Shit.” He mumbles and squats beside the guy. “Lemme see.” He says more calmly now and reaches to shoo the guy’s hands away from his face.

He doesn’t know where this act of kindness comes from, but Mickey grabs the guy by his jaw and drags him nearer the entrance of the cave so he can see a bit clearer the injuries. The face is covered in blood, most of it coming from the cut in the corner of his left eye. He never meets the guy’s eyes, since he keeps his gaze downcast.

He turns the guy’s head from side to side. He touches the guy’s nose to see if it’s broken.

“Ay, you’ll live. No broken bones. You’re gonna have a sore eye for couple of days thou.” He says and let’s go of the guy, fixing his leer on the guy’s eyes, who finally looks back. Greenish eyes seem grateful.

“Here.” Mickey says and reaches to his pocket and dugs up a hankie and offers it to the guy.

“Thank you.” The guy mutters and takes the hankie and wipes most of the blood away, and presses it against the cut.

“Can I just stay here for a bit?” Guy askes.

Mickey scratches his head, and thinks about it, then nods. “Fine, whatever man.” And moves to sit against the wall, tapping another beer open.

The guy coughs. “I’m Ian by the way.” He introduces himself, extending his hand for a shake.

“What makes you to think I give a fuck?”

“I just thought… never mind.” Ian turns his head away, eyes downcast again.

Mickey bites his lower lip and lets out a sigh. Why should he care?

“Mickey.” Regardless he says.

There’s a beacon of light in Ian’s eyes, he turns to look at Mickey and forms a small half smile.

“Nice to meet you.” He waves.

“Whatever.”

Silence falls between them. Since when he has felt sympathy for someone? He has busted more kneecaps he can count. Done more damage to people than he can remember. What’s so different now? Maybe Ian reminds too much of himself, a small broken boy, who had done nothing wrong and still gets smacked in the face. And what Mickey can see, a beautiful face.

“How come you know so much? I mean, how can you tell if my nose is broken?” Ian shyly asks.

“Let’s just say that I’ve had my fair share of punches in my days.” He had no clue why he’s explaining himself to this kid.

Mickey can feel Ian’s eyes roaming over him.

“Whatta fuck are you looking at?” He spats out.

“Erm, just you don’t seem like the guy who takes punches.” Ian’s eyes are tripping down from Mickey’s exposed quite muscular arms to his knuckles. “FUCK U-UP?”

“Stop asking questions or I’ll show you how I can fuck you up.”

Ian does something that Mickey’s never seen anybody do when threatened, he fucking laughs.

“Something funny about that?” Mickey huffs out.

For a guy with a messed up face, Ian sure is lively.  And for some reason, Mickey likes it.

“It’s just you seem caring and careless at the same time. You have this weird devil-may-care- attitude. That’s all.”  Ian says.

“I’m letting you stay here, and you thank me with quirky comments? Fuck you man, you don’t know shit about me.” Mickey snarls, cos he knows how close to home Ian hit.

“Just making an observation.” Ian says.

“Shut up and observe in silence.” Mickey says and places a smoke between his lips and lights it up, taking long drag from it, huffing out hot smoke.

Ian extends his arm, as gesture asking for a hit.

“Just don’t drool over it.” Mickey smirks and hands the smoke to Ian.

“God no, ain’t my first smoke you know.” Ian laughs.

“Alright then.”

In silence they pass the cig between them.  Sun starting to set, making the air colder.

“Frank used to smoke this brand.” Ian says, like it’s nothing important.

Against his better judgement Mickey finds himself asking: “Who’s Frank?”

Ian points his face. “Artist and my dad.” He coyly smiles.

“Dead beat dad, huh?” Mickey blows out smoke.

“You could say so, not that he has hit me much, this was the first time.” Ian says.

“A-ha. They do it once, they’re gonna do it again, just that you know.” Mickey voices out and puts out the cig.

“Speaking from experience?” Ian asks, and looks at Mickey, who grazes bridge of his nose.

“I might.” He replies and lowers his gaze to his hands, suddenly finding something very interesting on them.

Fuck, he hates Ian, he wants to fucking beat the shit out of him. Ian’s making him talk about things he doesn’t wanna talk about, he doesn’t wanna talk about fucking Terry. But he just keeps replying Ian’s questions like he’s a fucking marionette-doll. And Ian knows just the strings which to pull on. Ian’s fucking worming himself under Mickey’s skin.

He could just make Ian leave, but he doesn’t do that either. Instead he offers him a beer, a fucking beer. Which Ian accepts, thanking Mickey with a wide smile. What the fucks wrong with him? What next? Offer Ian a blanket, and wrap it around them like they’re a couple of fags? He needs to pull himself together.

“You finish that beer and get going then.” Mickey says.

“Why?”

“Cos I don’t need annoying redheads around me.”

“Didn’t realize I was being annoying.” Ian says, looking slightly hurt.

“Well you are.” Mickey bluntly says.

“Pushing people away doesn’t make you feel better, makes you only lonelier.” Ian explains, his arms crossed, looking Mickey like he was sinning.

“Fucking seriously? Now you’re giving me advices?”

“Looks like you need some.”

“Just stop it, I’m a fucking lost cause. That ship sailed the day I was born.”

Ian tilts his head, leaning even closer to Mickey, eyes studying hard, where the shadows meet light, where the cocky, angry eyes glisten with hope, where the dark lines under the eyes soften, where the snarly lips touch in chewing motion.

“Why are you so afraid of affection? Of someone caring?” Ian asks.

“Whatta fuc-“ Mickey starts, but gets set back when Ian reaches for his hand.

Mickey is frozen still, sharp shock waves running through his body, breath quick in gasps. He could, and should pull back, but the way Ian traces his finger along the side of Mickey’s hand. It feels warm, and… and, tender even. As Ian’s finger leaves his skin, it burns. Mickey tugs his hand against his chest, other one covering it, like he was trying to save the lightest of touches.

“See? You didn’t die.” Ian says, and forms a small reassuring smile. “You showed me care, tenting my injuries, yet you seem reluctant on receiving care.”

Mickey looks at Ian with wide eyes, he would argue, but whatever Ian’s babbling about is true. He doesn’t know how to reach to kindness. But why should he fucking care?

“Look man… I don’t know what you are doing but, just stop it. Stop with the fucking psycho analyzing.” Mickey sighs.

“Why?” Ian points out.

“Why? Are you fucking serious? COS I DON’T FUCKING LIKE IT.” Mickey half yells. “That’s why, you stupid fucking ginger.”

But Ian isn’t shaken by Mickey’s words, he just shrugs. “Just prove me point.”

“I’d rather speak with my fists.” Mickey huffs out, shaking his head lightly. Staring down to his hands.

“Then why don’t you?” Ian bluntly asks.

“Huh?”

“Why don’t you just hit me?”

“Are you out of your mind? You want me to fucking hit you?”

“No, I don’t. I’m just saying you could.”

Mickey shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath. Prior to his usual behavior he should punch Ian in his smug face, but now he doesn’t want to. Ian’s fucking annoying yes, he’s borderline blunt with his questions, he’s a brat, he’s a fucking stupid kid. But he’s right, about everything. Mickey doesn’t let anybody to love him, he doesn’t deserve love, hasn’t earned anybody’s love and affection.

He feels something wet on his lips, something soft. He opens his eyes and sees Ian pressing his lips against his. It’s nothing more than a peck. Closed lips on closed. Ian pulls back as quickly as he kissed Mickey.

“Sorry.” He mutters eyes squeezed shut, somehow making himself look smaller, ready to take that punch now. But it never comes. Ian cracks one eye open, looking at Mickey, who seems shocked and puzzled.

“Y-you didn’t push me away…” Ian quietly mumbles, looking at Mickey. “Why?”

“I…” Mickeys tries to say, but can’t complete the sentence. _I don’t want you to stop_. He isn’t sure he can handle it, but he craves for it, fucking affection, the heat. He tugs Ian closer mashing their lips together. Both blue and green eyes open, staring while their lips moved in and out in small short pecks.

Ian closes his eyes, hand finding its way to back of Mickey’s neck, tugging him closer, forcing his lips closer to Ian’s, not letting him get away. And Mickey let him, his eyes shut as well, feeling the heat between them. The connection.

Ian’s face is between Mickey’s hands, rough hands holding him in place as his lips hastily move, drinking in the sweetness and remedy Ian’s giving him. Feeding on the sense of safeness.

Fingers laced between ginger locks, not pulling, but gracing. Sore lips taste salty saliva, melting and mixing with his own.

Ian brakes the lazy kiss, pulling back, pressing his forehead on Mickey’s.

“Should I go?” He says or asks, he’s not sure which he means.

“No.” Mickey whispers. “Stay.”

As the silence falls and the darkness absorbs the light. There’s a whisper, hoping and needing.

“Teach me.”

**Author's Note:**

> um, thanks for reading and BYE. imma sending a boatload of love to ya all <3 *smooch*  
> side note: for some fucking reason this was the hardest thing I've ever written. It's so messed up.  
> side note number two: Why the fuck I keep writing one-shots and obviously need continuing?


End file.
